Breathe in, Breathe out
by Bitter Shadow
Summary: A young Sherlock's troubled mind and pained heart. An older brother who as the years went on, cared less and less until he forgot what it felt like to cry. A repetition of hurting, where all you can do is breathe in, and breathe out.


"Genius boy!" he sneered. "Got nothin' to say to that, huh? You think you're so special," he pressed the younger boy against the wall as he started to cry. "You ain't nothin' special, you got that? You're just a rat."

The thin pale boy nodded quickly, sniffling. He let go and scoffed as he fell to the ground in a shivering heap. "You're too pathetic. Don't try and act like you know who I am ever again, understood?"

He nodded again, his choked sobs occupying his throat. The boy gave him one last disgusted glare before leaving. He curled up as tightly as he could, his tears and snot mixing in with the blood from his upper lip and nose. His fingers gripped at the concrete ground as he tried to calm himself. This was the second time he was assaulted that week. His body was still aching from last time.

"Sherlock," He glanced up to see his older brother. Another disgusted expression. "what are you doing?"

"Sorry," Sherlock stood up as quickly as he could. An appalled look grew on his face.

"Are you crying?" he grabbed his little brother's chin, forcing him to make eye contact. Sherlock averted his eyes, mumbling another apology.

"Speak up," he gritted through his teeth. His glare bored deep into Sherlock, finding its place in his fears. "do not tarnish the good Holmes name with your weakness. I will not be dragged down by an aberration like you." he tossed him aside, refusing to glance at him anymore. Mycroft strode quickly and Sherlock stumbled after him.

"I'm sorry for embarrassing you," Sherlock stared at him hopefully with his teary eyes. "It won't happen again."

Mycroft continued to walk like he hadn't heard him. "Please," he begged. "I...I'm sorry I'm so weak." He didn't get so much as a glance back his way. He curled his hands into small fists at his sides, his black curls bouncing as he tried to keep up with his brother's speed.

"Stop it! Stop ignoring me!" he covered his mouth with a hand. He couldn't speak against him. He was in enough trouble as it was, he just made it worse. But Mycroft said nothing, instead he walked faster. They were now in the wide stretch of trees behind the school, where no one else went. Mycroft had to devise the path through it himself, as it was easy to get lost in.

"it's not fair," Sherlock whispered to himself. "It's not my fault they did this."

Mycroft's eyebrow twitched and he stilled. "Say that again."

"I-I didn't say anything," he stopped before walking into him. His form quaked.

"You said this wasn't your fault. It is your fault, and you truly are stupid if you don't realize that. You are always showing off, it's no wonder they'd victimize you. And do you know why you're showing off?" He quickly shook his head. "It's because you're weak. You want them to like you. You're too emotional, you will never be anything great."

Sherlock stumbled back, the words stinging his heart. "I'm sorry..."

Mycroft turned to face him. He approached him like a predator would approach its prey. "Let's play a game," he sneered. "Stay still."

Sherlock could not have moved if he wanted to. He was paralyzed with fear. Mycroft skillfully undid the tie of Sherlock's uniform and wrapped it around his eyes as a blindfold. He grabbed his brother's shoulders and spun him around three times. "What's the square of two?"

"Four!"

"Square of four?"

"Sixteen!"

"Square of sixteen?"

"T-two fifty six!"

"Square of two hundred and fifty six?" Sherlock hesitated. He nodded grimly. "Sixty five thousand five hundred thirty six. That's the number you're going to count to. Once you get there, you can take the blindfold off."

There was a pause. The wind whipped Sherlock's hair and clothes into a wild frenzy before calming again. He took a deep breath. "One...two...three...four..."

Hours passed. If Sherlock messed up, he would start again from the very beginning. He didn't dare risk speeding through the numbers so he said each one slowly. "Sixty five thousand five hundred thirty five...sixty five thousand five hundred thirty six." He swallowed hard. "Mycroft?"

There was no answer.

"I'm going to take off the blindfold now..." he tried to sound brave but his voice was no more than a hoarse whisper. He gently shrugged the tie off his eyes, clutching it in his small hands as he glanced around. It was dark, the trees looked like huge monsters. "M-Mycroft?" he whimpered, but his brother was no where to be seen.

He didn't know the way home. These woods were twisted without a clear path, only Mycroft could navigate them. Sherlock stood no chance with the lack of sunlight. He curled up on the hard ground and sniffled.

This would keep happening, he realized. Mycroft would keep treating him like this and it would only get worse. The other kids would pick on him. It would continue to snowball until...he didn't even know. Could he handle it?

"I'm just a kid," he cried. "I'm just a kid!"

He couldn't give up, he knew that. He couldn't break under pressure, he had a greater calling. He would be something great. Mycroft was wrong.

"Mycroft...was wrong," tears streamed down his face. "Mycroft was wrong. Mycroft was wrong. Mycroft was wrong." He kept repeating it to himself until he managed to fall asleep, his tie falling from his limp hands onto the muddy ground beside him.

A few minutes later, Mycroft found him laying on the ground. "You're a mess," he sighed. He picked him up, cradling him to his chest. "I looked all over for you, idiot. I didn't think you'd actually count that far. I guess that's a bit impressive. But you didn't even know the way to the house by now?"

Sherlock remained asleep as Mycroft got him into bed, slipping off his shoes and brushing the leaves out of his hair. "I expect you to be bathed and smarter when I see you again." He got up and glanced at his tiny brother one more time. He knew he might even be able to surpass him one day. But it would take work. And a lot of pain. Mycroft tried to remember back to when he felt as much as Sherlock did. Emotions were already becoming foreign to him. He knew with practice he'd be completely free, a machine mind made only to calculate. He prayed Sherlock would never become like that. But if he did not, the pain would be so much worse. Almost unbearable.

He knew he might lose him to this pain.

"Bonne chance," he mumbled and slipped out of the room. Unknowingly slipping farther out of Sherlock's life.


End file.
